Maid For You
by Yard of Blonde Girls
Summary: Tintin is encouraged by Castafiore to go on a "date" with the newest member of her entourage; her maid. The situation forces the young man to come out with his true feelings towards the Captain.


Maid For You

Author(s): Ineke; better known as the pen name, The Yard of Blonde Girls.

Rating: M for slash. I'm not a porn writer, and I don't work for Hugh Hefner, so it's not too heavy. I think things left to the imagination are way sexier.

Disclaimer: Non-canon. The characters used in this work are the property of Hergé. Just borrowing. Don't sue!

Cast: Tintin, Bianca Castafiore, Captain Haddock.

Summary: Tintin is encouraged by Castafiore to go on a "date" with the newest member of her entourage; her maid. The situation forces the young man to come out with his true feelings towards the Captain.

"Daaaaah-ling! So good to see you again!"

"Blistering barnacles!"

The familiar, deafening croon of Bianca Castafiore wafted up the staircase like a bad odor into the room where Tintin was working on his latest story. He cringed a little, and continued with his piece. He secretly hoped the steady clicking of his typewriter would ward away anyone with half a mind.

"Tiiii-tiiiin? Are you in here, caro mio?"

Apparently, Bianca Castafiore had less than half a mind.

"Yes, Signora," he called back through the door, spinning from his desk exasperatedly. "Please, come in."

Tintin walked across the vast, elegant room that his friend, Captain Haddock, had so generously given him upon becoming the benefactor of Marlinspike Hall. It was decorated in an interesting manner; the house was all original brickwork - 16th century, Tintin shouldn't wonder – but filled with furniture of varying decades. The older, more valuable furniture took pride of place in the library and main entertaining areas of the house, but Haddock had lovingly brought in all Tintin's mid-century furniture from his little flat. The walls were cozily decorated with a mixture of old artworks, that Tintin had found in the cellar and thought were too exquisite to go to such waste, and a compiling of framed newspaper articles featuring his own (and the Captain's) capers over the years – busted drug rings, under sea adventures, first men on the moon. It gave the room a warm fuzzy feeling to it that made it into the quiet sanctuary that Tintin loved so dearly.

Not so today.

The door opened with a creak, and The Milanese Nightingale burst into the room, larger than life – as usual. Tintin clasped her hand with both of his own and shook it gently.

"How lovely to see you again, Signora," he smiled. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, Tintin, it has been too long! Forgive my intrusion while you are working," the diva blushed, gesturing to her entourage behind her to enter the room. Her maid, Irma, scuttled in quickly and moved off to the side apologetically, and Bianca's accompanist and two other men that Tintin didn't recognize took place by the window, also out of the way. The last to enter was a short, brunette woman unknown to Tintin that stayed by Irma's side, keeping her head down. Tintin nodded to each of them as they entered.

"Not at all, Signora. Would you all care for some tea?" he added, noticing the butler, Nestor, passing by in the hall.

"No no, no tea for me. You are always so well mannered and charming! I always feel so welcomed here. And speaking of your chaaaaarming manners; that is exactly why I have come out to dear Captain Capock's ravishing little villa here," Castafiore sang out.

"Oh?" asked Tintin, leaning on his desk, and gesturing his seat to the diva. "That sounds curious." He ushered Snowy off an ottoman and pulled it forward so he could sit closer.

"As you know," Castafiore began, gesturing wildly with her hands, "I am always on the road – flights, car trips, a lot of glamour, a lot of night-life. That is the life of the opera diva! And my maid, Irrrrrrma, is not as young as she used to be. Why, the clumsy girl forgot my cough drops three times last week! And you know how I need a clear voice to sing!" She opened her mouth wide as if she were about to burst into song.

Tintin, without a moment's hesitation, grabbed her arm and quickly blurted out;

"Forgive me, Signora, but my ears, they have been…um, fragile, of late. You know, deep sea diving. I fear the…"

The songstress looked vaguely offended, but nodded. She flicked back a tendril of over-bleached hair from her forehead and continued.

"Yes, yes, of course. So Irma has decided to stay on my staff, but she shall be taking care of the cleaning and dealing with the press. Oh! How I despise them and their horrible stories! Vultures! But enough about that. The real reason I am telling you all of this, my dahhling little reporter, is that I have a new girl on my staff, taking Irma's position, and my dear Tintin, I do believe that she is a perfect match for you!"

Tintin had been glazing over for most of this story, and replying with the standard "uh-huh, mm, yes, I see" noises that one makes when they wish to space out. The last sentence prompted the same response in him, until;

"Wait, I'm sorry - what?"

The diva laughed loudly, and it was almost offensive a sound to the ears as her so-called opera singing. Tintin jumped a little.

"Oh, Tintin, you are a prankster! Just like Captain Havoc! I am trying to set you up with a _girl_! I want you to go out with my lovely new maid, Joan!"

Tintin came over all funny all of a sudden. He quickly stood up to leave, and when it seemed like that was a bad idea from vertigo, he sat back down again and put his head in his hands.

"Why, whatever is the matter, Tintin?" the Milanese Nightingale asked, her hand on his shoulder.

"I think… perhaps an illness," Tintin lied through his teeth, trying desperately to stop the room from spinning around him. "Yes, that's it. It's been going around. Last week, the professor, now me. If you'll pardon me, Signora," he mumbled, "I really must excuse myself for a moment and get some air."

"Yes, of course, caro mio," Castafiore said softly. "In fact, perhaps it is best if we leave; it would be dreadful if I came over unwell and was unable to perform tonight. Perhaps we can talk at a later date? I am staying at the little bed-and-breakfast up the road with the thatched roof; you know the one? I shall send Irma around tomorrow with details and we can have a little chat once you feel better. All right? Ciao now!"

The Signora didn't even wait for a response; it took less than 15 seconds for the entirety of her entourage to vacate the room completely. The door slammed shut behind them and Tintin sighed a deep, loud breath of relief.

"And just what was all that about?" came a voice from behind him. He jumped, and turned back around towards the door to see Captain Haddock leaning against the wall, taking a packet of tobacco out of his pocket.

"Goodness, Captain, you scared me half to death!" Tintin cried.

Captain Haddock had a curious, self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Oh, long enough," the Captain grinned. "Long enough to hear Castafiore try to play Cupid, and long enough to see you turn a violent shade of green," he laughed, packing his pipe as the smirk reappeared on his face.

The mere mention of Castafiore's plan made Tintin feel queasy again, and he slumped back onto the ottoman, leaning back against the wall.

"Are you alright, lad?" Haddock asked, a little concern rising in his voice. "I was beginning to think you just spun that tale for old Castafiore's sake, but you do look out of sorts."

He crossed over to where Tintin sat, and squatted down, resting his weight on the front of his feet. He looked at Tintin from either side, and when that "diagnosis" didn't prove anything, he ran the back of his hand along the young man's brow. He wasn't feverish, but he felt clammy, as though he had just seen a ghost.

"Alright, out with it," the Captain said, standing up again, before sitting down next to Tintin on the ottoman, nearly pushing him off onto the floor.

"It's nothing," Tintin mumbled, regaining his balance.

"Nothing my sea-bitten old foot," Haddock scoffed. "I've seen men with 6 months of sea-sickness under their belt look fitter than you."

Tintin sighed heavily.

"There's that sigh again," Haddock warned, as he continued to pack his pipe. "It's a date, Tintin. Granted, anyone that can stomach Castafiore on a daily basis probably has a few bats in the belfry… but, in all the time we've been friends, I've never seen you so much as look at a woman."

Tintin reddened a little. "I've been busy with my work," he said defensively.

"Thundering typhoons, that's your problem!" Haddock chided. "You're all work and no play. You're a young man! Live a little."

Tintin laughed nervously and scruffed up his ginger hair. "I think I've lived quite a bit more than the average young man, don't you agree?"

The Captain laughed a loud raspy laugh back in response, and when he had stopped, he paused to light up his pipe.

"All right. No argument there. But we haven't been on any wild goose chases for a few months now. Your work is steady and it's all local – last week was a story about the village butcher, by thunder! It wouldn't kill you to find a little nightlife," the Captain said softly, and he gave Tintin a glance that was filled with regret. "I wish I'd taken the time when I was a young man— "

Tintin interjected. "Captain, you're still—"

"Let me finish," the elder man cut in. "I never gave myself the chance, Tintin. And you deserve at least that. I spent my days on a rusted old tub with a bunch of drunk, sweaty men."

Tintin's mind wandered at this sentence. If only he could tell the Captain why he didn't want to go on this date – or any date, for that matter. Any date with a _woman, _anyhow.

"I should know you well enough by now to know your noises," Haddock said, and Tintin was snapped out of his daze.

"Mmm? Oh, sorry. I didn't realize I was even making any noises. I was just thinking."

"Out with it. Why don't you want to go on this date? Really."

Tintin looked around the room at the pictures of he and his close friend, and felt a pang of panic. He could either open up, or he could shut the Captain out and alienate his friendship and compassion. Tintin depended on Archibald Haddock in a way beyond all the titles he came with – friend, companion and landlord. He sighed, _again_, and decided;

Fuck it.

"Captain," he began, his voice wavering, "I can't go on this date."

"Why, not your type? Is she blonde? Fat? Unattractive?"

"No, no," Tintin cut him off. "It's not any of those things. I haven't even met her yet."

"Blistering barnacles, Tintin, you can't afford to be _that _picky!"

"Captain, it's not any of those things because she's a woman," Tintin blurted out all at once. "I can't go on a date with a woman."

For a minute, Tintin thought that the silence that followed the declaration was a silence of disgust. He suddenly realized, however, that the Captain wasn't following his train of thought at all.

"Are you saying you're a virg—"

"Captain," Tintin said softly, crawling down off the ottoman and kneeling in front of his friend, "I can't go on this date because I'm gay."

"Huh," said the Captain, and although it was meant to be a noise of questioning, it just came out as a statement. It probably fit the situation better, Tintin thought.

"I'm sorry," Tintin said, shifting back onto his heels to give the Captain a little more space.

"No, no, that just won't do, by thunder," the Captain barked.

"I said I'm sorry," Tintin said, not sure whether to be defensive or compliant.

"Not that," the Captain boomed, "your apology! Don't you dare ever apologize to me for who you are, you whippersnapper!" he shouted, standing and dropping his pipe. "Blistering barnacles, Tintin, do you know how many scrapes you've gotten me out of? How many times over I'd be dead by now without you? You put up with my sailor mouth and my constant drinking and my bumble-headed schemes and you do it all with good nature and a smile on your face. Thundering typhoons, if anyone is going to apologise, it's me!"

Haddock leaned forward and placed an arm on Tintin's shoulder, steadily looking the boy in the eye.

"You're my best friend, Tintin," he said, smiling. "You're the only person I'd want to live here with me in this crumbling old country house. And I'll take you anyway I can get you."

Tintin wasn't sure what this sentence meant. He had fantasized so many nights up in his lonely little room that the Captain had invited him to live here for reasons other than practicality and friendship. He wanted their partnership to extend beyond the borders it had now… and extend into the realms of the old sea dog's bedroom.

"There's more," Tintin gulped.

"It's okay, Tintin," the Captain soothed, slicking the younger man's ginger tuft of hair backward. "I think I've figured out the rest."

"Y...Y-You have?" Tintin stammered, wiping his brow and panicking a little. Haddock slid off the ottoman so the two men were face-to-face, upright on their knees. Haddock leaned back on his haunches as he took in the situation. He smiled. Tintin was oblivious, staring down at his shoes; full panic.

"Because believe me, Captain," Tintin bumbled on, "I didn't plan on having these feelings, but—"

The boy was suddenly silenced by a hot, wet prickly mouth surrounding his own. The shock of it didn't quite hit him until he realized that he couldn't make out a word his was saying for Haddock's tongue in his mouth. He pulled back.

"What—what just happened?"

"Well," Haddock smiled, "I'm not sure, but I think I just kissed you."

"You kissed me?" Tintin repeated, dumbfounded.

"You weren't aware? I mustn't have done it properly," Haddock laughed, launching forward for another. Tintin resisted.

"No, I mean—" he stopped and smiled. "You kissed me," he repeated again.

"Tintin," the Captain said, grabbing the boy's chin and directing it forwards so he could stare into his deep, blue eyes. "Why do you think I never had any of my own dates with women? Why do you think I just told you that my youth was spent on a boat full of sweaty men? That's the only experience I've ever had. That's the only experience I ever _want_ to have. I'll be honest," he continued, "when I met you, I thought you were a little adrenalin junkie boy scout. I didn't think I could ever… that we'd ever… well, you know how I feel about you, Tintin. You know we're the best of friends."

"Thick as thieves," Tintin smiled back.

"And that's why I wanted you to come live here at Marlinspike. That's why I follow you around the world, time and time again, despite how many times I say I won't. I want to be with my best friend. And…" Haddock said, trailing off a little as he leaned forward and ran his fingers along Tintin's jawline, "… I want to _be with_ my best friend."

Tintin shuddered at Haddock's strong, masculine touch. He cupped his hand around the Captain's fingers and wove his own between him.

"Captain," Tintin crooned.

"Aye, lad. I think it's time, don't you?"

"Time for what?"

"To take this to the boudoir."

The Captain stood and held a hand out for his young friend. He pulled him up in the familiar way that he always had, yet it held a new weight now.

Standing, Tintin rubbed the back of his hand along the older man's beard. It felt just as he always knew it would. He smiled, and pressed his soft baby face against it. He smelled like sea water, whisky and sweat.

Tintin couldn't remember a smell before it, or since.


End file.
